Sleeping Beauty
by Helkauiel
Summary: Arthur muses on Ariadne's sleeping habits and the unusual feelings they have inspired. Arthur/Ariadne.


**Title: **Sleeping Beauty**  
**

**Rating: **PG**  
**

**Movie: **Inception**  
**

**Summary:** Arthur muses on Ariadne's sleeping habits and the unusual feelings they've inspired.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Inception', it's characters or the universe in which they exist. They have just taken over my mind.

...

She snored. And not just a delicate little burr or hiccup that easily faded into white noise and out of mind. Arthur was hard pressed to believe that such a delicate young woman could emit a noise more akin to a nasally challenged rhinoceros than any man he had ever had the misfortune to overhear sleeping. But it was true; one of the best and brightest Architects that Cobb had ever found also happened to snore louder than any of the others on their rag-tag team. He let out a chuckle that eventually grew into a stream of laughter that he managed to stop before accidentally bringing Ariadne and their boss out of their dream-state prematurely.

Over the last few weeks Arthur had found that he rather enjoyed the company of their new recruit, conscious or otherwise. When she was awake Ariadne devoured knowledge about dreams with a vociferous appetite that left him spinning. And in addition to being more than slightly attractive, she also possessed a quirky wit and sense of humor that provided him with a refreshing reminder of a world that wasn't consumed with greed stooping to ever-new lows. Even if those lows kept them employed. And when she was asleep…

When she was asleep her face lost none of its expressive qualities. Arthur could tell when she tussled with some new task Dom had set her because her brow would furrow ever so slightly only to brighten moments later when she unfailingly completed the challenge. Creating mazes put the shadow of a smile on her face. It astounded him how much joy she could draw from the act of creation. She struggled at times, yes, but she was undeniably in love with her craft. Most artists struggled to find their artistic voices and even once they did find them, could not hold to any vision in a maelstrom of influences and opinions. Not her. Not his Ariadne.

His.

Arthur knew it was more than slightly creepy that he was in charge of watching her sleep. It was even creepier that watching her sleep had inadvertently caused him to fall in love with her. That act was a completely private one in his mind because he knew her like no one but a lover could. Who else could but her lover would enjoy the privilege of seeing her with her mouth drooping open and her hair falling into her eyes while a night passed fleetingly on? Only the lucky bastard who shared a bed with her. Arthur wished that someday he could be given the opportunity to be that man.

He knew he possessed a multitude of faults as a bed-partner after having been brutally informed by Cobb and Eames that not only did he snore, but that he also apparently occasionally would violently twitch and scare the living daylights out of those monitoring him. His self-consciousness about his sleeping habits had made intimate relationships with women difficult at best, and to be honest, he now realized that those other women couldn't hold a candle to Ariadne's stubborn brand of brilliance. Or her snoring capabilities. If he could ever get her into his bed, he contemplated about how she would curl under the covers and if she slept on her stomach or on her side. Sometimes as she lay slumbering in that battered chaise lounge he liked to imagine her chestnut locks spilling on a pillow and her hand gently cushioning her cheek. And when he imagined what could take place in that bed before falling into the arms of Morpheus… Well. Between the two of them he wondered if they would ever actually get to sleep, let alone dream. What a pair they would make.

And he didn't even know if she was a blanket hog.

For now, Arthur was content to be the Prince Charming watching over a Sleeping Beauty that didn't quite fit the usual mold. He wondered if she knew of her sleeping idiosyncrasies. He wondered if she knew about his. He dared to grasp her unmoving hand and his heart skipped as her slender fingers closed around his even while she lay deep in slumber. Maybe one day she would do that while she was awake. But as time ran out on the clock and her brown eyes slowly opened, he smiled into them, and thought he saw a glimmer of some expression he didn't dare name.

After all, a man could dream, couldn't he?


End file.
